


Spill On the Street of Stars

by FriendlyCybird



Category: Gravity Falls, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, FAHC, Frottage, Immortal FAHC, M/M, The explicit chapters will be entirely skippable if you want, and the lack thereof, discussions of mortality, passing descriptions of violence, why do we tag for specific kinds of sex again?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-25
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-08-29 09:21:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16741285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FriendlyCybird/pseuds/FriendlyCybird
Summary: In 1980, Stanley Pines spent ten months in Los Santos, California. It was the longest he'd spent anywhere in a long time. Then, in 2013, he comes back.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been obsessed with Gravity Falls for a few months now, I figured my first public venture into fic for it should be a crossover with my other major obsession. I know it's weird, but I couldn't help it.

“What is it with you Jersey boys?” the tall redhead grumbled. “Showing up half-blind, not making your own appointments…” 

Stan couldn’t help but scowl at the idea that he should have done this himself. He wasn’t made of money. As it was he’d be working off the cost of this gift for a couple days at least, probably more. Then she turned and grinned at him and Stan felt something inside him begin to go warm. 

He hadn’t known what to expect when he got to Los Santos. It was a bigger city than his usual, maybe the biggest he’d been to. The last eight months had bled him dry of business ideas. Enough startups and shutdowns to make his head spin, and enough moving around he struggled to remember all the stops. Good idea or no, he’d started up the usual routines. Settle in, look for contacts. 

He’d met Jack at his first meeting with a local loan shark. She wasn’t the shark though, she’d been flanking the moustached man in a suit who’d put a bullet in the loan shark’s head. She’d been the one to smile grimly at Stan, who’d been splattered with blood and brain matter at the time, and said “Sorry you had to see that.” as the two of them had turned to leave.

“Hey wait!” the part of Stan with no self preservation had called after them, dragging the rest of him under the wary gaze of the redheads boss. “...You have any idea who else I can go to for money?” he’d asked sheepishly.

They’d offered him a job instead. A simple one, one cog in a big heist machine. Get this car from point A to point B by this time. Get that car from point Y to point Z by that time. It was the second half that had gone to shit. He’d been pulling into the agreed on point Z when he heard gunshots. A man in a skull mask was running toward him, turning to return fire at the pair of cops behind him every few steps. He’d never make it all the way to the car without getting shot. So Stan did the only thing he could think to do and drove up beside him. The man threw himself into the back seat and Stan floored it. By the time he’d got clear there was a bullet hole in the windshield and more in the passenger side doors, but Stan and the man in the skull mask were both unharmed. 

“Where to?” he’d asked, thoughtlessly.

About five minutes later he’d regretted that when a short, bald man forced him to his knees while the man in the skull mask stood over him with the man who had hired him. He should’ve just pulled over, let the gangster drive himself like they’d planned. But now he knew where their safehouse was, so they were gonna kill him. Last time he’d do anything nice for anybody, Stan swore to himself. Even if he survived this. 

He did. Obviously, Stan noted from behind a magazine in the waiting room of an eye doctor. He was sitting here, after all. That turned out to be due to, of all things, a blond brit. The man Stan had since come to know as Gavin Free, the worlds biggest pain in the ass, chose that moment to pull up on the back of another mans motorcycle and ask “What’s this, then?” He got an explanation from the moustached bossman, and had frowned deeply. “Well that’s not fair. Saves Ryans life and gets a bullet for his trouble. Seems like a waste of time.” 

An hour later they were setting Stan up for a stay in the safehouse while the gang returned to their more usual haunts. They’d got him real groceries and everything, and Stan was grateful. They used him twice more before Jack saw him squinting at a page of instructions he’d been handed. And that, Stan reflected, was how he got here. He put the magazine down when his name was called and went back for his first eye exam in going on twenty years. 

Jack bought him one pair of glasses. Nothing fancy, but they did the job. The world was clearer then it’d been since he was a little kid. No prettier for it though. 

“I’ll pay you back. Somehow.” Stan grumbled on the drive ho- to the safehouse. 

Jack hummed consideringly. “Consider it an investment.” She smiled at him. “You’re not much use to us if you can’t see.” 

Ryan was at the safehouse when they arrived. He had bits of tech spread out around the living room. Stan picked his way through the mess to the kitchen, grabbed two beers and a diet coke, the former for himself and Jack and the later for Ryan, and picked his way back to the couch where he sat down before handing out drinks and opening his own. Jack turned on the TV, a football game. The picture was a lot crisper than usual and Stan appreciated that more than the game itself. Ryan ignored the TV and just worked on his nerd project. Stan hadn’t pegged the tall, imposing figure he’d driven away with last week as a giant nerd but, well, the evidence was undeniable. 

Gavin showed up a while later, and grinned at Stan. “Good look, Pines.” Stan stifled a slight jump, like he always did when they called him by name. He’d meant to give them the same alias he’d given the late loan shark, but one look at Geoff Ramsey, meeting those heavy-lidded blue eyes, Stan had felt the lie die in his throat. He’d choked on it, near enough to literally to give him the creeps, and for the first time in half a decade Stan had given his real name. So now, Gavin used his name liberally. Playing with the sound of it, turning the syllables over his tongue like the pen he sometimes twirled between his fingers. Stan wasn’t sure he liked the way that twisted something in him, a withered half-expectation of something good. Gavin seemed to have noticed it though, and he did like it. 

“Thanks.” Stan responded, and Gavin settled in to help Ryan with the project. The nerd supplies, expensive tech they’d assured him, had been the goal of that first heist. They were pretty tight-lipped about what they were using it for, and Stan didn’t really care. Could be world domination for all he knew. They’d burn the world to the ground the second they had it and he didn’t care. What did that say about him? He doubted it was world domination though. The point still held. Somewhere between when they turned to leave him covered in gore and how they expected for him to do nothing more then his damn job and do it well and rewarding him in equal parts cash and kindness, sometime before going out and buying him glasses as an investment in what was the biggest flag possible they planned to keep him around for some insane reason...Stan had come to like them. Maybe, he could dare to hope, even trust them a little. And just like he doubted they were planning to take over the world, he doubted that they’d betray that fragile trust. 

The thought was powerful enough that Stan crushed his empty beer can. Refusing to dwell on it, Stan stood up and gathered Jack and Ryan’s empties on his way back to the kitchen. 

He was a dumbass. Trust these psychos? They were murders. All six of them, to a man. They’d almost killed him! Ethics aside though, they were offering him something enticing. Comfort, excitement, a place in something bigger than himself, and there was no denying the crew was bigger than himself. Sure, he could never make that fortune as a grunt, and he wanted better for his life then fetching drinks, but Jack was kind, Ryan and Gavin were total dorks and he could hear them bickering already over some kind of science crap. Even Jeremy, the one who had pushed Stan to his knees at barely a word from Ramsey and held him there. Jeremy had turned out to be quick with a smile and a friendly word. They were good people doing undeniably bad things. They were powerful, they were dangerous and they knew it. And Stan a dumbass who’d gotten comfortable with them. 

He grabbed three beers this time, and another diet coke. He wondered absently if someone could get drunk from enough diet coke and if Ryan had ever tested that theory. Then, as he started back toward the living room, he felt the realization like a thundercrack. This could never last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fic Title from "The Immortals" by Kings of Leon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No sooner had Ford thought that then Stan spoke. “I was here for most of 1980. Ten months. One of my longest stretches anywhere. There was this guy…” Stan trailed off. Ford was surprised by the way a note of affection underpinned raw grief in his brothers voice. It was obvious that Stanley had been close to this man, and equally obvious it had ended badly. Ford wasn’t prepared for how badly. “I got him killed.” Stan admitted. He let that sit, obviously reliving a terrible moment. Ford reached out and put a hand on his brothers shoulder, and Stan offered the briefest attempt at a smile in thanks. Then “But I saw him today, Ford. I swear, I saw him and he looked…” Stan hesitated. He blew out a long breath. “He looked exactly the same as he did thirty three years ago.”

Stanford Pines knew his brother had lied to him. He’d known for the better part of a year. Last November in South Carolina, they’d encountered a figure from Stanleys past. Recognition had come slowly, and they’d nearly been killed. In fleeing human forces, Ford had been forced to abandon pursuit of what looked to be a powerful anomaly. He still occasionally checked the news sources local to that area to see if any harm had come of ignoring the preternatural there. Stan had carried the guilt of that encounter visibly for days, at one point muttering “I should have just remembered.” His nightmares then got worse over the holidays, and Stanford realized by January that Stanley was fighting to remember things he’d rather forget.

In realizing this, Ford had also been forced to face Stanleys lie. Not all of his memories had returned. There were enough memories, Ford had decided by February, to know that the man he'd been sailing with for nearly six months was very much his brother There were holes though, mostly from the years he’d spent on the road. The more Stanford learned about those years, the more his feelings about those holes shifted from guilt to relief. Then back to guilt again as he realized that Stanley was determined to remember all of it, no matter how horrific, lest those horrors visit again.

Ford wanted to offer comfort, to reassure Stan he didn’t have to relive all that. They could just take any threats as they came. But Stan would deny the holes in his memory to his dying breath. He wanted to keep what he’d suffered to himself. Stanford felt much the same about the more traumatic moments from his own travels, so he didn’t press. Simply knowing Stanley had reason to lie though had always opened his eyes to his brothers tells. So when they passed the Los Santos city limits sign in a bright blue rental car, Ford saw Stan tense in that particular way that meant he’d found a new memory and was chasing it for possible threats. “Are you alright?” he prompted. Another chance to come clean. 

“Yep.” Stanley lied. Then “I think Los Santos is the biggest city I’ve ever been in.” 

“Really?” 

Stan nodded. Then “Maybe just the best known.” 

They drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence. There, they unpacked, and Ford spent some time recalibrating a few of his devices, attempting to better isolate the anomaly readings. It was a big city, after all. Stan left sometime in the first hour to acquire dinner. He returned well after dark, looking pale. 

“Stanley?” 

Stan took a few long, deep breaths. “Think I found our anomaly.” 

Ford got to his feet. “Where?” 

The house Stan drove them to looked abandoned. “Is there where you saw it?” 

“No.” Stan was tense like that again.

“Then why did you bring me here?” 

Stans eyes were fixed on the house. He didn’t answer. Ford breathed deeply to quell his irritation. This city was a hub of crime and violence. Literally anything may have happened here. Stan had every right to work through whatever trauma he’d unearthed in his own time. But if he was going to drag Ford along he could at least be honest about it. 

No sooner had Ford thought that then Stan spoke. “I was here for most of 1980. Ten months. One of my longest stretches anywhere. There was this guy…” Stan trailed off. Ford was surprised by the way a note of affection underpinned raw grief in his brothers voice. It was obvious that Stanley had been close to this man, and equally obvious it had ended badly. Ford wasn’t prepared for how badly. “I got him killed.” Stan admitted. He let that sit, obviously reliving a terrible moment. Ford reached out and put a hand on his brothers shoulder, and Stan offered the briefest attempt at a smile in thanks. Then “But I saw him today, Ford. I swear, I saw him and he looked…” Stan hesitated. He blew out a long breath. “He looked exactly the same as he did thirty three years ago.” 

“So a ghost then?” Ford didn’t know how to deal with Stans emotions here, no matter how well he related to them. “Or some other from of undead?” 

“He wasn’t rotting.” Stan said. “So not a zombie. And he didn’t look like a ghost.” 

Ford considered. “Did he live here?” 

Stan shook his head. “I did. Our boss owned the place.” 

Ford brightened. “There’s our first stop then. Do you think you can find your old boss?” 

Stan looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Did you not hear me? I got Gavin killed! My old boss would sooner shoot me then look at me, if he’s even still alive!” 

Ford took a fairly deliberate breath as he took this information into consideration. “I’d assumed it was an accident.” Stan turned to glare at him, and didn’t need to say anything for Ford to realize that it was, he just didn’t anticipate that being understood or accepted. “We should probably go to where you saw this man. I know you said he didn’t look like a ghost but that doesn’t rule out that he might have been an apparition of some kind.” 

“We should leave.” Stan said flatly. Then he corrected “I should leave.”

“Stanley…” Ford hesitated. “You may be the key to finding out what’s happening in this city. If the anomaly is actually tied to your friend, then you’re instrumental to my investigation.” Stan deflated, and Ford winced. He hated seeing that happen to his brother. Hated being the cause of it again even more. He pushed on then. “You should take me to the place you saw him. If it’s unsafe to reach out to your former contacts, we’ll need to find other ways to investigate.” 

Stan was silent. He seemed to be considering this, clenching and unclenching his fists on the steering wheel. “Alright.” he said finally. “But you don’t do anything here without me. We stick together every step of the way on this.” 

Ford frowned, not quite able to trace what had led Stan to that stipulation. While it was a complete reversal from his position mere moments ago, it wouldn’t be a difficult one to accommodate though. “That shouldn’t be a problem.” Stan nodded and started the car again. As they were driving, Ford asked “Are you taking me to where you saw him now?” Stan just nodded without any more of a verbal response then a grunt. They’d driven for all of ninety seconds when Ford had to ask. “That was an abrupt change of position though, Stanley. What changed?” 

“It’s been thirty years since anyone in this city’s seen me, Sixer.” he said. Stans voice was tight, frightened. “I realized if you start wandering around alone, someone could see you and make a mistake.” 

“You were on good terms with the people here.” Ford argued, more out of concern then anything. “There was an accident thirty three years ago, even if your contacts are still in power, do you really think they’d kill you on sight for it?” 

Stan was silent for a while. He turned abruptly and without signaling into a grocery store parking lot. Ford braced on the door and briefly regretted letting his brother drive. Then they pulled into a parking stop and Stan sighed. “Ramsey loved Gavin like a son.” He turned his head and looked at Ford, in the eye. “So, yes.” 

Stan spoke with such conviction that Ford felt a flood of ice-cold fear through his veins. He nodded. “Alright then, we’ll be careful.” 

They checked the area around the store. Stan had seen Gavin here in the parking lot. There wasn’t a lot to go on, so Stan and Ford called it a night. They went inside the store to pick up something for dinner and headed back to the motel. Ford drove this time. They got back to the motel and ate in silence. Stan was keeping something from him, something about the better part of a year he’d spent in this city. Maybe it was the details of what had happened to Gavin, Ford had a feeling it was something else though. Whatever it was, Stan kept it to himself, crawling into bed as soon as they were through eating. Ford could tell he didn’t fall asleep right away either, but he pretended. Ford didn’t confront him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hadn’t thought he could ever feel this amazing sober. And he was still sober, no controlled substances of any kind in well over twenty hours by now. So maybe Stan finally understood how another human being could be a drug.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first explicit chapter in the story. It is a single scene, capturing the first time Stan and Gavin had sex back in 1980. If you're not interested in reading smut, I'll be posting Chapter 4 in just a few minutes so you can move right along to that.

The safehouse, Stan reminded himself, wasn’t home. 

The bed he’d just been playfully pushed down on, he reminded himself again, wasn’t actually his. And for that matter, neither was the man who had pushed him. That didn’t stop him from springing back up to sit on the edge of the bed, or reaching out to grab the man in question by the hip and pull him close. 

If someone had told him a mere twenty minutes ago he would be gripping Gavin Free at the hip with one hand and running the other first up and then down through the body hair on the thinner mans abdomen and to the button on his jeans, Stan may have laughed in their face. He’d have laughed harder if that person had gone on to describe how he would pull those jeans open and tug Gavins half-hard cock free and begin stroking while using the hand at his hip to tug his jeans down. Stan may have stopped laughing if this theoretical physic storyteller had gone on to mention that Gavin would tuck a thumb into his waistband and, with a little push, help Stan bare Gavin’s entire pelvic area. Because that was just weirdly hot to think about, possible or not. 

Twenty minutes ago, he would have laughed. Because it was only fifteen minutes ago that he’d gotten home from a heist that had been the adrenaline spike of a lifetime. There was very little like the thrill of a break-in. Following a break in with parachuting from the roof of a skyscraper with a bag full nearly to bursting with cold, hard cash, tacking on a quick car chase for good measure and wrapping it all in the overwhelming feeling of being needed and accepted by the most powerful people he’d ever known and Stan walked through the front door of the safehouse in a state of euphoria previously unparalleled to the best of his memory. The fact that Gavin had been a mere step behind him had, at first, been hardly more than a footnote in Stan’s joy. 

From there, the details were hazy. Laughter, a hand on his back. A hand on his face. A kiss. 

For as unexpected as the kiss was, the fact that he hadn’t expected it was the last thing Stan noticed about it. He noticed that his lips were horrifically chapped compared to Gavins. He noticed that Gavin still tasted like the stew Jack had made and shared with them all earlier that evening. Salty beef and starchy potato wasn’t the most romantic impression to get from a first kiss, but then there wasn’t much about what Stan and Gavin had that was actually romantic. 

The first kiss had broken, only to be followed by another. And still another, and then more kisses that he peppered across Gavins jaw and down his throat. The moan he got in response was worth it. Shirts were peeled away and left somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, and now as Stan brought his mouth to the head of Gavin’s cock, he reflected that he hadn’t thought he could ever feel this amazing sober. And he was still sober, no controlled substances of any kind in well over twenty hours by now. So maybe Stan finally understood how another human being could be a drug. 

Giving blowjobs wasn’t usually fun. There was a reason they were called jobs, after all. The sounds Gavin made though, the way long fingers tangled through Stans hair, stroking his scalp with a touch that was somehow both firm and light and following the necessary motions of his head rather then guiding them...Stan found himself moaning around Gavins cock. 

Then Gavin pulled away, and Stan felt like an idiot when a whine escaped his throat. Gavin’s hand fell on his shoulder, then after a fraction of a seconds consideration, down his arm to grab his hand and haul him back to his feet and into another kiss. Something in Stans brain broke, because Gavin was kissing him right after...like, his mouth had just been places and… he didn’t have time to properly reconcile the fact that Gavin probably just didn’t care before he was pushed down on the bed again. He had only just enough time to feel a little like a yo-yo before he understood what Gavin had been doing. 

Somewhere in the last several seconds, Gavin had stepped out of his jeans and underwear and shoes for that matter, and now was crawling over Stan to straddle him. “I’m a little overdressed…” Stan joked, shifting slightly as he tried to puzzle out how he could remove his own pants with Gavins legs on either side of his hips. 

“I like you a little overdressed.” Gavin...the best word for it really was purred, Stan noticed with some astonishment. Gavins hands were wandering Stans chest, the lightest of touches across his skin and Stans breath caught as he settled his hands back on Gavins hips in this new position. What were they even doing? He didn’t dare ask the question out loud for fear it would make them stop. He curled his hands so this thumbs stretched down along the lines of Gavin’s pelvis, stretching his knuckles so his fingertips nearly reached Gavin’s ass. 

Gavins fingers found Stans nipples and just then he would give anything for them to be more sensitive, because as it was there wasn’t much he could do with that. Sure, it shot a little thrill through him but in the haze of coming off that kind of adrenaline and the upswing of this whole new high, the sensation was nearly lost. No more or less electric then the rest. So he slid his hands down Gavins thighs and breathed “tell me…” 

“Tell you what, Stanley?” Gavin whispered, seeming to realize the issue with the nipples and moving on to Stan’s abdomen. 

“What you want.” Stan had never heard his voice sound like that sober, not quite slurred but not exactly clear either. His usual gruffness gone soft and rich. 

Gavins eyes sparkled as he leaned down, closing space between them and breathing “You.” before kissing him again. Stan almost rolled his eyes even as he kissed back. He’d have appreciated a little more clarity. A little direction, maybe. Unless Gavin just wanted to take his time? Wanted to just do whatever he felt like with Stan for as long as he felt like it and if that thought didn’t go right to Stans already stirring cock and bring it right to attention…

Stans eyes had slipped closed during the kiss, so he wasn’t entirely sure how Gavin could possibly be holding his body to be lifting his weight off of Stans hips while still kissing him, but he’d done it. The little genius multitasker was also using whatever angle that was to tug Stans pants open and down, boxers with them but only just to mid-thigh. The sudden freedom for his erection still elicited a groan from Stan and his hands ventured back up Gavins pelvis and this time all the way around to rest on his ass. 

When Stan felt Gavins weight again, it was overwhelmed by the fact that their cocks brushed together, and he felt all the air leave his lungs when it happened. He tried to inhale, but was cut off by Gavins long fingers curling around both their cocks at once and Stan tipped his head back, gasping. He had no luck getting any kind of regular breathing going again, because in the seconds of trying Gavin began stroking. Long, slow, easy strokes, timed with shallow thrusts that dragged skin against sensitive skin in multiple places. So Stan gave up. 

Instead, he leaned into the onset of lightheadedness and lifted his head to look at Gavin. The other man had a determined expression, hints of pleasure lending a pinch to the shape of his lips and wideness to his bright green eyes. Stan brought his hand in so his palm covered Gavins fingers and the small gaps between them, fingers stretching over the back of Gavins hand so they had a better enclosed circle to double fuck. 

The pull against his skin was a little bit raw, and the hedonist in Stan wished for some lube while the masochist reveled in it. The sound Gavin was making was like a whine, a little shrill and pulling just like his strokes and Stan pushed their joined hands to a faster pace. They both moaned at the change in pace, the better pace, Stan decided, since Gavin apparently enjoyed it enough to arch his back again to lean in for another kiss. 

Kissing Gavin, Stan decided, might well be the closest he’d ever get to heaven. Or maybe that was the combination of the hungry, open-mouthed kiss with the steady, rough mutual stroking of their cocks and the gentle thrusts that set the whole pattern slightly off in the best possible way. Some distant part of Stans mind wondered that he and Gavin had so effortlessly achieved total unison in the movement of their hands, while any thought closer to reality was completely burned away by the heat building low in his gut. 

By the end, he couldn’t tell the difference between his own noises and Gavins. Sure, he knew that his were probably the deeper moans and Gavins the higher squeaks, but it all blended together into something both with and without symmetry or order at all. A wonderful, predictable sort of chaos that built and built as though there would be a surprise at the end. 

Unfortunately, neither orgasm was a surprise. Instead it was just a release, the snapping of something that had seemed to have been long straining, despite the fact that it could only reasonably have begun minutes ago. Perhaps the surprise was that they both happened at almost the exact same time, Stan spilling over their joined hands and his own stomach with a cry that overwhelmed all the little noises that had filled the room throughout a mere second or two before Gavin did the same. Except Gavins cry was a word. 

“Stanley!” 

It was a little strange to be coming down from getting off while thinking about just how much your partner liked saying your name. Stan couldn’t hope to understand what Gavin saw in it. Or, for that matter, saw in him. He finally caught his breath again though, as their hands disentangled and Gavin pulled himself to the side, collapsing beside Stan on the bed. Stan wasn’t sure why he hadn’t expected it when Gavins arm reached out and draped across his upper abdomen. 

From an impossible, half-formed crush to post-coital bliss in under half an hour, Stan reflected, unable to keep from smiling. He turned onto his side and wrapped his own arm around Gavin, distantly aware that they’d need to clean up sometime soon. Even more distantly aware that there were a lot of questions raised by this sudden development in their relationship that would have to be asked if not answered. For now though, he just wanted to enjoy this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Would you live forever if you could?”

“Would you live forever if you could?” 

The words cut through the blissful haze Stan was settling into, and reminded him all at once just why he’d considered Gavin so annoying for the first several days they’d known each other. He barked out a fond laugh all the same and managed “Fuck, Gavin, what would I have to do to you to get you to not be thinking of weird questions all the time?” 

Gavin laughed and leaned closer. Their foreheads touched and Stan was left breathless all over again by the intimacy. This was out of nowhere, it’d happened so unexpectedly, and Stan hadn’t even quite caught up to the reality of the experience and he was already being asked to think about something else? “I can think of a few things.” Gavin whispered seductively, and Stan could feel the other mans breath on his lips. 

“Can I do them now?” Stan asked, his usual grumble returning to his voice. “I would really like to make you shut up for a minute.” 

Gavin made a happy little noise and kissed him again, and Stan could only return the kiss. It went on a little while, and when Gavin pulled back he asked “There, was I shut up long enough for you?”

“No.” Stan answered automatically, eliciting another laugh from Gavin that left him grinning as well. 

“Won’t you just answer the bloody question though?” Gavin pressed, and Stan sighed, shifting slightly, pushing and kicking at his pants to get them the rest of the way off. And wasn’t it just like Gavin to not even de-pants him completely before fucking? Once they, and his shoes, which Gavin had also left on him geez what was the rush? Were off, Stan was finally able to put some thought into this latest hypothetical. 

“Do I wanna live forever?” he echoed, and once the words were back in focus, the answer was easy. “Nope.” 

He felt Gavin tense, and instantly wondered what he’d said wrong. Did his answer give too much away? Had the one word somehow allowed a glimpse of the darkness behind it? He’d have to follow up on it to find out, and Gavin opened the door to do so wide by asking simply “Why not?” 

“Why would you?” Stan asked instead. “Everyone else you’d ever meet would die and there’d be nothing you could do about it, and that’d just happen over and over again for all time. No thanks.” 

“But think of the discoveries!” Gavin pled. “Witnessing the arc of human history! Social development, eventually evolutionary development. One day, you’d wake up and it’d be just like a caveman waking up today. Except you could trace every step of how it got there. Doesn’t that sound exciting to you?” 

Somewhere between Gavins words and the playful shove Stan made at his shoulder, a hole opened up inside of Stan. From it, the words “Sounds like you’re a nerd.” rang rough and hollow instead of the playful tone he’d intended. In that moment, Gavin had sounded just like Ford, and it made Stan sick in the worst way. 

The way he puffed up and proclaimed “Maybe I am!” didn’t help.

“Yeah, well, I’m not.” Stan said, pulling away. Rolling first onto his back, then to his other side where he could swing his feet off the edge of the bed and sit up. Then stand and start out of the bedroom. 

“Stan? Stanley, where are you going?” Gavin sounded so lost, so small. Stan froze in the doorway long enough for Gavin to add “Come back, it was just a question.” 

“Calm down, Gav.” Stan said. “I’m just gonna go clean up.” Which was absolutely true. There was cum drying on his hand and stomach and sweat just about everywhere else. He needed a shower just as much as he needed to get away from the suffocating familiarity Gavin had struck him with. So he went and took one. 

It was in another shower, with significantly worse water pressure, over three decades later that Stan remembered that night, almost like reliving it. The shame he’d felt, as he’d wondered if he only cared about the remorseless killer he’d just had sex with because of a passing similarity of interests and sometimes demeanor to his own brother. The slow unpacking of that question, coming to terms with the fact that Gavin was as bad as the rest of them. That it was only a matter of time, if he stayed, before Stan would become just like them. He hadn’t even blinked during that heist when Ryan shot down three security guards in cold blood. He’d barley paid a thought to the probable casualties of the “distraction” Michael had set off to get the rest of them started. The question, raised by the parallel, of if Ford could ever be so cold, or if he was the better twin in morals as well as everything else. Then of course the question of why he was thinking of Ford at all after so much time, eight years without a word. 

Stan couldn’t remember much about that night after the shower. Despite the crystal clear detail of everything that came before, it was like the water just...washed the rest away. He wondered if Gavin had stayed, or if he’d left while Stan was occupied. He knew it wasn’t the last time they’d had sex, far from it. There’d been no way to know it at the time, but weeks and weeks of more and better sex had been on the horizon, all before tragedy. It was that tragedy that Stan felt most keenly now, the loss of what might have been the most ill-advised love he’d ever had. The irony of the question echoed in his mind. It was far from the only hypothetical question Gavin had forced on him, but it had something the others didn’t. Maybe it was just the timing, or the urgency, or the fact that most of the others were still lost to his not yet fully returned memory, but Stan turned the question over in his mind. 

Would you live forever if you could? 

The answer was still a fairly resounding no, and for fairly similar reasons. Except now Stan had names and faces to go with those people he’d never want to outlive once, much less the dim replacements he’d eventually find and lose all over again. Still, as he finished his shower, dried and dressed, Stan couldn’t shake the question. 

So when he emerged from the bathroom, he posed it. “Hey Ford?” his brother looked up from whatever he’d been working on. “Would you live forever if you could?” 

To his surprise, Ford seemed to weigh the question, giving it consideration instead of asking where it had come from. “How are we defining forever?” he eventually asked. 

“Sheesh, I don’t know.” Stan grumbled, flopping onto his motel bed and rolling onto his side to look at his brother. “Forever’s forever, right?” 

“Would I cease aging as well?” 

In a strange reverse of a recently remembered painful moment, Stan was reminded of Ryan. The patient way he’d consider and take apart Gavins questions. Turning something as stupid as a purely hypothetical question of money or impossible body alterations into discussions that could last hours. The inevitable frustration when something in the imagined scenario didn’t stack up to reality. “I don’t know!” he snapped “It was just a question, geez.” 

“It’s alright, Stanley. I was just trying to get some context to frame my answer by.” Ford said. He went silent for a moment, then said “Honestly I don’t think I would? If only because I can’t imagine such a remarkable ability coming without an unimaginable cost.” 

This Stan could work with. “Say it didn’t though.” he said, because there’d been nothing in the question Gavin had asked that night about a cost. And Gavin was no stranger to strange and horrific costs being part of the equation for his hypothetical questions. Stan could still remember being offered dozens of hypothetical fortunes, in exchange for awful things. Gavin had literally gagged at least once from how readily Stan accepted some of the worst ideas Gavin could dish out. He smiled a little at the new little pile of returned memories, filing them away to ask Ford some other time. He’d get some good reactions from a few of the more particularly memorable ones. “Say just, one day you woke up and you knew that if you wanted, you could just...never die.” 

“Assuming it was reversible then, and I could die when I inevitably wanted to, I would take it.” Ford reasoned. 

“Inevitably?” Stan echoed, hoping his voice didn’t convey how desperately he hoped that didn’t mean what it sounded like it did. 

“Of course.” Ford said. “While for a time being able to indulge even my most reckless fantasies has it’s appeal, eventually, well…” he paused, a little uncomfortable. Then, “Am I assuming you were offered this same ability?” 

“Again with the questions.” but Stans heart rate had sped up at the implications of that one. Mixed emotions all around. 

Ford shrugged. “It makes a difference.” he said. “I’d estimate about a hundred years or so of being able to enjoy my immortality with you along. Without you, well…” he paused, and seemed to realize what he was saying. “Obviously I can’t put an exact number on how long I would…” he trailed off, and Stan looked at him expectantly. “What brought this up anyway?” 

Stan shrugged. “Something Gavin asked me once.” 

Fords expression changed, from plain discomfort to a still uncomfortable sort of sympathy. Something only just shy of pity. Stan hated it. Ford didn’t even know what Gavin had been to him, and still bringing the other man up got that reaction. “What did you tell him?” Ford asked. 

“Nope.” Stan responded. Then “Left it at that too, he tried to pry and I got up and took a shower.” It wasn’t totally true, but Stan only found the problem with the lie after it was out of his mouth. 

He wasn’t sure if Ford caught it or not, and if he did, he didn’t say anything. Of course, that’s what it had been all year, every hint Stan had dropped about his sexuality had either blown right past his brother or been noted without acknowledgement. It was killing Stan not to know which. Not as badly, of course, as if it were the former and the eventual revelation would end with Ford being furious and disgusted and leaving him. It bothered him, not having any real way to know if his brother was homophobic. They hadn’t encountered any form of queerness as teens, except in Stans own private questioning, and nothing of the nature had ever been discussed. It seemed the minor slip, the one he could make a million excuses for with ease, wouldn’t trigger that discussion either. Stan was almost disappointed. If Ford was going to find out about any experience he’d had with men, Gavin was probably the best one. 

Instead, Ford asked “Is that what brought...what made you think of it?” with a vague gesture toward the bathroom. 

Stan frowned, the edge of yet another secret he was keeping cutting into the conversation. Overall, this was the more poorly kept secret, and the one he wished more to keep covered. He didn’t like Ford knowing about the holes left in his memory. He didn’t like that there were still holes. Luckily, Ford had reworded it at the last minute, so Stan wasn’t acknowledging anything outside of normal patterns of memory when he said “Yep. Just, thinking about Gavin and the crew again…” he trailed off, and shrugged. 

“I understand.” Ford replied. 

Stan knew he shouldn’t press. At best, he’d make Ford uncomfortable. At worst, he’d find out he’d taken the hesitation wrong and it was something else altogether going on in his genius brothers head. In the end though, the desire for affirmations of affection won out. “So what were you saying?” he asked, mock innocently. “Something about putting a number on something?” 

Ford made a face, and Stan almost laughed. “Unfortunately, that line of thought took me across something a little too realistic for the intended hypothetical, Stanley.” Ford said. “I don’t like thinking about losing you, much less the possibility of an eternity beyond that. Of course I won’t put exact numbers on our relative realistic life expectancies, but...I take some comfort in knowing they are, in the bigger picture at least, similar numbers. Were I offered an alternative to that, I doubt I’d want to take it.” 

Stan grinned. That was good enough for him, especially now as he watched the realization dawn on his twins face that Stan had absolutely played him to get that answer. It’d been phrased just right too. Ford wasn’t saying that losing Stan would make him want to die or anything dramatic like that. Just a vague acceptance of mutual mortality being better than living forever without him. It was exactly what he’d wanted to hear. “G’night, Sixer.” he said cheerfully, instead of acknowledging the answer itself. Then he rolled over and tugged the blanket up over his shoulder. 

Ford sighed in fond exasperation. “Goodnight, Stanley.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little Million Dollars But, and then Ford's jumping out of the car to play hero and having important encounters.

It wasn’t that the last couple days had been particularly rough. It was just that they’d been tense. A whole lot of waiting and wandering, sitting in traffic. Ford at least had his gadgets to fiddle with, when he didn’t insist on being the one driving. Stan was left with a growing pool of memories about this place and a building anxiety about staying. He was surprised how many of the memories were good ones. Oh sure, a few were filled with smoke and gunfire, the shouting of orders through a headset and running for his life. A lot of them were quieter though, but filled with the same sort of high-stakes tension. Late nights with a scruffy looking man and a red-headed woman whose names escaped him, studying maps of the city to better maneuver through it. Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Jeremy, acting as muscle while Geoff or Gavin met with someone to make a deal. Lending a hand in the warehouse where Michael kept the supplies for his explosives. Some them were outright domestic. Intimate moments with Gavin, Jack making dinner for everyone. Yet no matter how good they got, they were all tainted. First by the nature of the people he’d shared them with, and then by the way it all ended. 

Right now though, he and Ford were stuck at a traffic light. Stan’s scowl at the glowing red dot broke though, as an old conversation floated to the surface. “Hey Sixer.” Ford spared him a glance and made a noise of acknowledgement. His hands never left the wheel and his eyes barely left the road even though they were at a dead stop. “If you could get a million dollars, but you’d hit every red light for the rest of your life, would you take it?” 

“Doubtful.” Ford responded automatically. “I’m not so motivated by money, and that would be quite an inconvenience.” Ford paused, then admitted “though, I may have answered differently if you’d asked when I wasn’t actually caught at a red light.” It was then that something mischievous crossed Fords face and slipped into his voice as he added “I might encourage you to take it though.” 

Stan blinked. “Say wha?” 

Ford smirked. “I assume the stipulation only applies when the one who takes it is driving. With that sort of inevitable inconvenience, it’s probable you would give up on driving altogether and leave it to me.” 

Stan scowled, a defense of his driving on the tip of his tongue. Instead, his amusement took over and he hit lower than that. “More like I’d start running red lights every day.” Ford actually turned to glare at him and Stan laughed. “And anyway, I never said only when you’re driving. It could happen as a passenger or even walking.” 

“Well, nevermind. Don’t take it then.” Ford grumbled, turning back to the road. 

Stan grinned. “Are you kiddin? I want that million!” 

Ford groaned. Traffic progressed. Two minutes later they were stopped again. “Is that another question Gavin asked you?” Ford still sounded a little too careful when he asked, but under Gavin’s name there was a tiny spark of annoyance that made Stan grin. If Gavin had even known Ford existed, much less anything about him, he’d be so proud to be annoying the man from beyond the grave thirty three years later. 

“Yep.” Stan reported. Then frowned. “I think that was the question that got Michael and Ryan yelling at each other one time.” he thought another moment “No, it wasn’t that one. It happened though. A lot.” Stan made a noise that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Gavin always knew just what to say to piss off the most people at once in the funniest way.” 

Ford made a noise that Stan couldn’t decipher, then said “The two of you must have made quite the pair, then.” 

This was nice, Stan decided. Happy memories that weren’t of his childhood or sometime between last summer and now were few and far between. Oh sure, a handful here and there with Soos from the ten years before that, but this was different. “Man, we sure were.” and he hated the tinge of melancholy in his voice. Gavin was long dead, and would probably kick Stan’s ass for grieving now, even if he’d only just remembered and the loss was fresh all over again. So he pulled for more good memories, and found a related one. “One time, he asked me if I’d drink every half-full drink I found laying around for a million dollars, and when I said yes he just started gagging and coughing…” 

Ford made a noise of disgust, and backed it up by actually stating “That’s disgusting, Stanley.” 

“Yeah, but it was pretty funny.” Stan protested. When Fords expression didn’t change he said “Eh, whatever. Ya had to be there, I guess.” 

Ford seemed prepared to continue this subject, his mouth was open to reply when the car in front of them swerved out from between them and the car in front of it, taking a sharp turn left and shifting to a high speed. A young woman with dark hair dyed blue at the ends screamed after it. Before Stan could do or say anything, Ford was out of the car. “What the hell?” Stan demanded as Ford slammed the door behind him. “Ford!” 

The light changed, and Stan had to just sit there while all the cars ahead of them drove on. A moment later, Stan was getting honked at from the cars in line behind him. It was mostly instinct that put Stan in the driver's seat and took him on a loop around the block. Ford would need a minute to help the lady anyway, not that Stan had any idea what his brother planned on doing. 

When he pulled up to the same intersection, Ford was nowhere to be seen. 

-

“Ma’am? Are you alright?” Ford approached with some caution. Jumping in like this always came with risks, and while Ford couldn’t just ignore the crime he’d witnessed, he would take some care in offering aid. In situations like this, victims were often irrational, and could make their situations worse. He could, if nothing else, offer himself as an anchor. It wasn’t something he’d made a habit of on his travels, but...this was home. Here, Ford had no higher purpose. He could afford the time and energy to inject himself into the lives of strangers in a crisis. 

The woman threaded her hands through the dark roots of her hair. “Fucker stole my car!” she shouted. 

“Are you injured?” Ford pressed. 

The woman’s hands dropped. She took a deep breath. “No.” she said, sounding drained. A note of stress returned to her voice when she added “But my phone was in there!” 

Here, Ford could be more than an anchor. He’d been gifted a mobile phone from Fiddleford this summer. One his old friend had made substantial modifications to, to aid in better international communication. He pulled it from his jacket and asked “Would you like to borrow mine? You could call someone, perhaps the authorities?” 

She hesitated, then nodded. “Thanks...yeah, I was, uh, meeting some friends? They can probably pick me up and, I don’t know, take me to the police station or something?” 

Ford was handing over his phone when the car he had rented on arrival in California started moving. At first, he was struck by the less than rational fear that someone was stealing his car too, potentially with Stanley still inside. He realized a beat later that the much more likely scenario was that Stan had decided to drive off for the moment and would return shortly. The car had, after all, been left sitting in traffic. Ford frowned, noting that perhaps he should have pulled over before jumping out to help. 

The woman didn’t actually use his phone to make a call, instead tapping furiously at it for several moments. Her face relaxed from the scowl it had fallen into and she took another moment tapping at the screen before offering his phone back. “Thank you.” she said, “My friends are only about a block away.” 

“Would you like me to walk you there?” Ford offered. He wouldn’t blame her for not wanting to be alone right now. 

To his surprise, she looked at him consideringly for a long moment. Then glanced behind him, and back to looking at him. He waited, silently, until she said “Sure, I guess.” and started down a ways and through an ally shortcut that too many of Fords instincts were telling him was a bad idea to walk down. He kept close to the young woman’s shoulder as he escorted her, keeping an eye out for further dangers. 

A soft beep sounded from his wrist, and Ford frowned. He fell back a little, keeping the woman in his peripheral vision as he checked the reading. He’d been doing some work to bring up the sensitivity on his tracker, so he could trace anomalies to a matter of yards. The soft warning was clear, and the holographic image confirmed it. At the far end of this ally, there was something weird. The young lady was walking right towards it. Ford was about to say something, to try and stop her, when a voice called from that direction. “Pines?” 

A young man with gold sunglasses, sandy blond hair, and an unnervingly wide grin emerged from the back of a sports car. He held the door for the girl and turned back to face Ford. Ford reached for his gun, and ventured a guess. “Gavin?” 

The grin got impossibly wider and Ford took an involuntary step back. “Thought that was you.” the man started into the ally. Ford started to say something, he didn’t know what and he didn’t get the chance before there was a warm hand on either side of his face. “It’s been too long, Stanley Pines.” the man that Ford could only assume was Gavin breathed, and suddenly he was being kissed.

Oh. 

Stan hadn’t mentioned that Gavin had been his lover. That made whatever had happened, what was still happening here and now, so much worse. Even as he was reaching up to grab Gavin and pry him away, Ford caught himself starting to kiss back. He stopped as soon as he realized, the question of if Stanley had gotten himself mixed up with some kind of incubus crossing his mind as he pushed Gavin back while keeping a firm grip on his arms. “Not Stanley.” he said firmly. 

“Not…” Gavin echoed, clearly confused. “Then who…” 

“Stanford.” Ford answered. “His twin.” 

There was a beat, then Gavin laughed. “Good one, Stanley. I think I’d know if you had a twin. I deserved that though.” He stopped and something about his face softened. “I should have followed you, Stanley. I’m sorry.” Fords grip had gone slack. He shouldn’t be surprised Stan never mentioned him. He certainly shouldn’t be hurt. They’d been together less than a year, it took Ford longer than that to tell Fiddleford about Stan. For a moment though, the words cut deep enough that Gavin seemed to realize. He went pale. “Oh. You...you’re really not Stanley, are you?” 

“I’m really not.” Ford said. 

Another question was on the tip of his tongue when Gavin cut him off. “Is he…” Gavins expression was dark, clearly apprehensive despite the sunglasses. It took Ford a moment to realize why. 

“Stanley’s fine. He took…” Ford stopped. He didn’t want to tell this...thing...where his brother was. No matter what the past between them was. “He’s fine.” 

Gavin tilted his head down to peer over the top of the sunglasses, glaring. “If you couldn’t tell,” and Ford couldn’t tell - whether that tone was threatening or not, that is. “I’ve missed him.” 

“I could tell.” Ford responded, because that much had been more than apparent. “He told me you were dead.” 

Gavin tipped his head back slightly, so the glasses fell back across his eyes. He maneuvered them expertly with his hands occupied. Ford had worn actual glasses, out of necessity, for his entire life and he couldn’t use them expressively the way this man could. “Yeah…” he said, bringing his head back up to look at Ford. “I figured he thought that…” then he seemed to deflate, the arrogance falling out of his posture. “I meant it though, I should’ve gone after him.” 

Thirty three years later and the affection in Gavin’s voice was a clear as it’d been in Stan’s. At the moment though, that was more cause for concern than anything. Ford was about done being indirect. “What are you?” he demanded. 

Gavin laughed, and his posture changed. All mocking arrogance now, he said “Aww, look at you, being the protective big brother! Stanford, was it? Parents weren’t very creative then. Maybe I just age well, Stanford.” Something in how Gavin said his name put Ford on edge. Not that he hadn’t already been on edge, but, moreso. 

“You don’t look like you were even alive in 1980.” Ford argued. “Much less in your late twenties.” 

“LATE twenties?” Gavin echoed, incredulous. “Do I really look LATE twenties? I need to take better care of myself.” 

Ford was beyond done. He kept one hand on Gavin’s arm, tightening his grip. If he was disappointed that the other didn’t react with pain, no one had to know that. With his other hand he grabbed his gun and pressed it against Gavin’s ribs. “Just answer the question.” he growled. 

Gavin sobered. “Well, then.” he said. “Stanley must really be over me if you think he’d forgive you for that.” Ford hesitated, and that slightly lopsided grin popped right back. “Oh, you don’t! That’s good news then.” 

“You seem to have a knack for surviving.” 

“Answered your own question then, didn’t you?” 

“Not really.” Ford returned, all the same he relaxed the gun back a little. “There has to be more to it.” 

“Oh, there is.” Gavin answered. “The question is, if I didn’t tell Stanley for almost a year, and we both know I can just walk away if you shoot me, then why would I tell you?” Ford didn’t have an answer to that. Gavin reached up and patted him on the cheek. “Give your brother my best.” 

Then there was a flash of pain in his throat and Ford couldn’t breathe. Gavin pulled away and was gone before Fords eyes stopped watering from the blow. He rubbed his throat and winced. Then he started slowly back to the intersection where Stanley had left him.


	6. Chapter 6

The day Gavin died began with a double date held under the guise of recon. If Geoff Ramsey had ever been to this diner, Stan reflected as he threw his arm around Gavin’s shoulders and pulled the other man close, he’d have known that excuse was a load of crock. Sure, they could see the hotel they were gonna hit that night through the giant window by their booth. It wasn’t exactly a very useful view though. Stan craned his neck to get a look at what he thought might be a service entrance.

Across the booth was Michael Jones and his girl Lindsay. Despite the fact that Stan had actually spent more time in the last ten months with her than with Michael, he didn’t know her last name. She only knew his because Gavin couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Michael and Gavin were bickering, and Stan’s attention was drawn back in from the window by a look from Lindsay. They made brief eye contact, then rolled their eyes in unison. 

The waitress came. Stan’s order was the smallest, a coffee and a side of bacon. “You gonna want some of my waffle, Stanley?” Gavin asked when the waitress left. 

“We’ll see.” Stan grumbled. Of course he’d want some. It was a question of if he’d actually end up taking any. 

The four of them fell into an easy chatter. Their coffees came and the conversation continued. Their food came, and the conversation was broken up by eating. Stan was done in seconds, and afterwards let himself get distracted by just running a hand up and down Gavin’s spine. If they hadn’t been in public Stan would have stolen a kiss or two. If he’d known how the day would end he’d have done it anyway. 

Funny, all the little things Stan regretted. You’d think a guy with as many big regrets as he had wouldn’t have room for little ones, but Stan had thousands. Right now, Stan just hoped pulling away from that intersection would only end up being one of those small regrets. A moment where he’d scared himself a little, put unnecessary strain on his heart. He was on his third trip around the block, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold off the encroaching panic. Then he saw Ford coming out of some ally half a block down from where Stan had left him. Stan screeched to a stop and laid on the horn. Ford casually jogged over and got in the passenger side. 

“I saw you, you know.” Ford said. His voice sounded a little weird. “Honking was unnecessary.” 

“I’ll tell ya what was unnecessary!” Stan shouted. “Jumping out of the car in the middle of traffic ‘cause some chick got carjacked!” 

“Perhaps it was.” Ford agreed, and Stan looked at him in surprise. “Please keep your eyes on the road, Stanley.” 

Stan kept looking at Ford out of pure spite. “What happened to your voice?” 

Ford blew out a breath, obviously trying to decide where to start. Which, it wasn’t like there could possibly be a lot of starting points in the two minutes since they’d last seen each other. “I’ll tell you, if you just watch the road.” So Stan turned his eyes forward. “I got punched in the throat.” Ford admitted, and Stan burst out laughing.

“Serves you right, butting in like that.” he said as relief finally poured into him. Ford was okay. “What happened? Get mistaken for a creep?” he laughed again. 

“I…” Ford stopped, seeming to consider. 

“What?” Stan asked, taking a turn a little too tight and leaving Ford gripping the car door in alarm. 

Ford exhaled, then said “I got mistaken for you.” and Stan felt a wave of cold dread wash over him. “By Gavin.” Ford continued, and Stan didn’t know how to react to that. At least it hadn’t been anyone else. Of course, Gavin was dead. So whatever Ford had met… Stan felt his fists tighten on the wheel. “He was...affectionate.” Ford reported. Stan felt a whole new reason for panic hit his gut. How affectionate? It wasn’t like he could ask without giving something away if Gavin hadn’t already. “At least until I told him I wasn’t you. Then he was…” Ford struggled for a word. “Mocking. Superior. I’m ashamed to admit, he talked circles around me while I just stood there demanding answers.” A new thought seemed to occur to him. “I hadn’t expected him to be quite so vain.” 

Stan snorted. He was still terrified, but “Yep. Sounds like Gavin.” 

Ford nodded, considering. “Then he told me to give you his best and punched me in the throat.” 

Stan frowned. “That doesn’t sound like Gavin. He only got violent when…” something clicked. “What did you do?” 

Ford winced. “I may have had a gun on him.” 

“What the fuck, Stanford?” Stan shouted. 

“We don’t know what he is…” Ford tried to defend. 

“So you shoot him?!” 

“I wouldn’t have actually…” 

“Can it.” Stan growled. “You and I both know not to point a gun at something if you’re not willing to shoot it.” Even as he said it, he was flooded with memories detailing just how bad the crew had been about that particular firearm safety rule. Geoff yelled at someone about it around once a month, and even he’d started to pull a gun when Ryan and Gavin got going at a meeting on some old argument about flipping coins. Stan could clearly remember the wary expression as Geoff realized what he’d nearly done. Or...when he looked at Stan? Huh. Thinking about all those moments back-to-back like that, it did seem like they usually deescalated when Stan spoke up. Or just when someone noticed him. “Of course.” Stan decided to voice that thought. “I’m not sure Gavin knows that.” 

“Oh?” 

Stan shrugged. “All six of them got a little careless sometimes. Sometimes they’d be roughhousing, a gun would come out and someone would have to shout at ‘em like they were kids. Usually Ramsey. Sometimes me.” He chuckled a little. “I never really thought of how bad they were about it until now.” 

Ford frowned. “Gavin said that we both knew he could walk away if I...fired.” 

Ford had edited that quote, and Stan had a few guesses how. “So you think he thinks we know what he is?” 

“On the contrary, I know he doesn’t. I was asking ‘what are you?’ so, I may have lost us any advantage that could have given.” 

“Eh.” Stan dismissed. “I know better than to play mind games with Gavin Free. Even if he isn’t human anymore.” 

“If he ever was.” Ford sounded a little distant as he made the suggestion, and Stan glanced over at him again. “Something in his behavior…” Ford hesitated again. Then he changed the subject. “It’s ironic though, isn’t it? That Gavin once asked you if you’d like to live forever, and now he seems to be exhibiting symptoms of immortality.” 

“What, so you think he was something all along?” Stan asked, a little incredulous. He’d have known if Gavin was anything but human, wouldn’t he? 

“Do you think it’s possible?” Ford asked. “He seems to still have some sort of hold over you, after all. Even after all this time.” 

Stan had to literally bite his tongue. It hurt and he winced and that just made him even more angry. “I don’t think you get it.” he said after a moment, surprised how how level his voice sounded. “I was closer to Gavin then I’d been to anyone in years. He meant a lot to me, Stanford. Ten months can be a long time.” 

“I understand.” 

The worst part was he probably did. Most likely there was no experience from Stan’s years on the road that Ford couldn’t top with his thirty behind the portal. Okay, Stan might have one or two prison stories on him, or at least he hoped to hell he did, but for the most part Ford could match and surpass him point for point on the matter of years in hell. So what could he possibly say? Nothing. So he didn’t. 

-

“Geoff! Geoff, you’ll never guess who’s back in town.” 

Geoff looked up. “Who?” 

“Stanley Pines.” Gavin was grinning. 

“Stan...That’s a name I haven’t heard in a while.” 

“Hasn’t been that long.” 

Geoff pointed “You are still too young to say thirty years isn’t that long.” 

“Thirty-three, and I’m catching up!” 

“That’s not how age works, Gav. Speaking of age, isn’t he old now?” 

“I didn’t actually see him. His twin brother’s pretty fit though.” 

“Stan Pines has a twin brother?” 

“That’s what I said! Yeah, and you’ll never guess his name either.” 

“Umm, nope, you’re right, I won’t. What is it?” 

“Stanford.” 

“...are you sure he wasn’t just pulling your leg?” 

“Completely. Stan wouldn’t pull a gun on me.” 

“...Jesus… well. What are you gonna do?” 

“Haven’t decided just yet.” Gavin looked considering for a long moment, then a grin slowly spread across his face. “Got an idea though.”


	7. Chapter 7

Various noises filled the motel room as Stan flicked through the TV channels. Nothing seemed to be catching his attention, and certainly nothing would hold Fords. He kept turning the same half dozen thoughts over and over in his head, as if one of them would yield new clues if only given enough examination. The one he didn’t mean to keep returning to was the kiss. 

He should probably tell Stanley that had happened. Should, but probably wouldn’t. Now would be the worst possible time to provoke Stan, especially around the issue of Gavin. The concept of a former lover back from the dead was one fairly well-documented by horror media, and it never ended well. Or at least, not for anyone who wanted the surviving lover to continue surviving. He supposed it ended well enough for the lovers, in some cases. 

Those stories, Ford reminded himself, were wildly inaccurate. To say nothing of the fact that Gavin seemed entirely different from the ghostly entities in them. Still, for some reason he kept imagining Gavin as a threat. A figure that would steal Stanley away from him at the first chance it got. So between the possible jealousy upon learning Ford had initially returned the mistaken kiss, and the even more likely anger at a secret being uncovered before he was ready to share it, Ford didn’t anticipate that conversation ending well. 

What puzzled Ford though, was why Stan had kept that element a secret in the first place. They’d only known each other for ten months, so Ford’s best guess was that whatever had been in their relationship that had compelled the kiss had still been too new to quantify at the end. The problem with that was that Ford just couldn’t see his brother moving so slowly if there was mutual interest. Given the rather disastrous consequences in them keeping secrets from each other in the past, Ford certainly hoped Stan had a good reason for this one. 

There was movement out the window, across the parking lot near the pool. Ford shifted to get a better look and saw a street light glint off glass that was suddenly moved. Binoculars, Ford realized. “Stanley.” he snapped. 

Stan turned the TV off, so Fords tone must have successfully conveyed the needed urgency. He came to the window. “What’s going on?” 

Ford stood and shut the blinds. “Someone watching. Presumably us, although we can’t rule out a coincidence.” Stan tugged at one of the slats on the blinds and peeked out. Ford leaned in close to peer through the same opening. “There.” he said, voice low when he saw movement again. Stan pulled away, letting the slats snap closed and Ford turned to face him. 

The expression on Stan’s face was, unfortunately, a familiar one. It was the one he typically wore just before he went up to something significantly larger than himself and punched it. Terrified, determined, and just a twinge of a dark smile. “Alright, Sixer.” he said, voice even. “You’ve been wanting to find out what’s really going on. Looks like some answers might have just fallen in our laps.” 

It took Ford a moment to understand what Stan was talking about, but when he did he nodded once and said “keep an eye out. I’m going to get some things ready.” Then he turned to do just that, mind racing. Should he reiterate the chance this was just a coincidence? A motel like this was the perfect place for, say, a cheating spouse to meet a paramour, and be followed by a private investigator. Ford was sure he could think of another half dozen reasons for someone to be being observed in their motel room. 

If it were anything other then what it seemed to him, Ford reasoned, they could just let the men outside go. Of course, that raised the question of what they would do if it was exactly as it seemed. That was a question that Ford would rather answer when it came to it. 

Stan stepped back up to the window to watch for more movement. 

-

 

The first time Stan had gotten someone killed, he’d been 21 years old. 

It was on his first venture into blue collar crime. Until that point, his illegal activities had mostly been in the vein of false advertising, cheating on taxes, and operating unlicensed businesses. Then, the first cold night after he turned twenty-one, November of 1975, Stan found himself in a dive bar in Georgia. He’d hit rock bottom earlier that year and was only just so much as finding the will to get back on his feet, much less actually attempting it. Time was closing in on 2AM, Last Call just around the corner, and Stan was wondering where to go when the only warm room open for a dozen blocks closed its doors for the night. The answer had come in the form of a bar fight. 

If the grappling pair hadn’t crashed into his table, Stan wouldn’t have gotten involved. As it was, it hadn’t been hard to pick a side. The fight had been five on two and those were odds Stan had some pretty specific memories about. So Stan stepped in and ended the fight. Then he was offered a job. A week later, his new boss sent him and a few others to retrieve someone. 

If not for the bed and hot meals he’d been enjoying for the last week, Stan would have quit on the spot and switched sides the moment he saw the fear in his targets eyes. In the years that followed, he’d be on the other side of this exchange more times then he could count, and he would always remember his own rolling stomach and end up trying to reason with whoever had come for him. Using the guilt the part of him who still had any kind of faith in humanity had to believe they were feeling. 

Being in the room when the man he had personally helped drag in front of his boss got shot in the head was too much for Stan. The moment he was dismissed he got in his car and drove all night, and by morning was somewhere in Louisiana. 

His timing in getting that particular memory back had been shit too. Two days before the twins left Gravity Falls he went from slowly reliving various unpleasant but not horrible memories when that one popped into his head and he’d all but thrown Mabel off of his lap to get to the bathroom in time to throw up. He’d had no idea how to answer the kids anxious questions, and had decided then and there that some things weren’t worth remembering. 

He’d been really dumb for a couple months there. 

Tonight, Stan thought of that incident only in contrast. There was no fear in the voice or stance of the young man who had been passing his binoculars to his companion when Stan and Ford had come upon them. Two of them, Stan had thought, two of us. It shouldn’t have been so hard to subdue both of them. Of course, then he was doubled over in pain and unable to breathe from the surprisingly solid blow the somewhat twiggy looking guy got in on him while shouting “‘Fredo, RUN!” before Ford got hold of him. 

Maybe ten minutes later, Stan was staring at the bruise his brother gave the kid when he was suppose to be securing his restraints. He looked like a kid too, twenty-five at the outside, no younger than nineteen or twenty though. His face was set in a sort of grim determination that Stan knew too well. It’d been a while since Stan had been on this end of things. Despite the fact that this was his idea, Stan felt a little sick. Still, they needed answers. Well, you catch more flies with honey, and all that. Stan made sure the ziptie was tight around the kid’s left wrist and arm of the motel chair, then said “Listen, sorry we had to get rough out there. Things got a little crazy, but really, we just wanna talk.” yeah, okay, anybody who’d so much as seen a movie wouldn’t be comforted by that line. Way to go, Stan. 

The kid was slender and dark-haired and he was smiling. Stan knew that smile, and hated that it was being directed at him. “Nah, we’re good.” the kid said happily. “In fact, I wouldn’t be mad at all if you weren’t TYING ME UP at the moment.” 

Stan chuckled. “Yeah, sorry about that too. Just had to make sure you weren’t gonna try and get away before we were done with our talk.” He offered a warm smile, an attempt to put his captive at ease. “Let’s start easy. What’s your name?” 

“Alfredo Diaz.” 

Stan paused, then barked a laugh. “Kid, you’re whiter’n I am. That’s not your name.” 

“You called your friend that while he was escaping.” Stan was also started by Ford’s interjection. Or maybe by Ford’s voice. Flat, cold, with just a hint of anger behind the words that sent a chill down Stan’s spine. 

The kid shrugged. “You asked me a question, I gave you an answer.” 

“See…” Stan responded. “We’re lookin for TRUE answers.” 

“Well, I’m looking to not be tied up.” the kid answered, just this side of sarcastically. “So we can’t all get what we want.” 

Then and there, Stan decided he liked this kid. Which only meant the rest of this was going to suck. “I think.” Ford interjected “That my brother and I are much better equipped for getting what we want in this situation then you are.” 

The kid made a considering noise. “See, I don’t think you are…” he said. Then his eyes went wide and Stan glanced over his shoulder. Ford had pulled out his gun. Stan took a step backwards and out of the way. It took taking another look at the kids face to remember that Ford’s gun didn’t look like a normal one. “Is that thing even real?” 

In answer, Ford aimed it about a foot to the kids left, at the motel table next to the chair where they had him tied. He fired. A hole with scorch marks around it appeared in the table, and the kid went wide-eyed again. “Yes.” Ford said flatly.

“You uh.” the kid said “Either didn’t need to say that or could have JUST said that.” 

Stan was still frowning at the hole in the table. Well. They were definitely skipping out on the motel bill. No way he was paying for furniture damage. He was distracted long enough for Ford to add “Now, about what we wanted…” 

Stan interrupted. “It’s not much. We’re not asking for anything that could hurt anyone. Strictly self-defense information. That’s all. You’re not gonna get in trouble for telling us.” 

“You’ll only be in trouble if you don’t.” Ford added, and Stan felt a moment of wonder strike him. He really hadn’t predicted he’d end up playing the good cop to Ford’s bad, but he really shouldn’t be as surprised as he was. 

“See…” the kid said, and Stan was genuinely impressed by how calm he was. “That doesn’t work. Because if I don’t tell you, then you shoot me, then I CAN’T tell you.” Which was a good, if ballsey, point to make. 

Ford didn’t miss a beat. “Who said I’d have to shoot to kill?” and there was a moments silence. Stan was pleased to notice the kid eyeing the scorch marks around the hole in the table consideringly. That was a good sign. 

“We don’t actually want to hurt ya, kid.” Stan interjected. Then, taking a moment to play with their roles, he glanced at Ford. The line was already on the tip of his tongue, a lie at its inception. One look at Ford’s expression and he was a lot less certain of his own dishonesty. “Or, at least, I don’t want to hurt ya.” He paused, trying not to be surprised by the dark look he’d seen on his brother. They’d have to talk about that. Stan hoped it was fake, part of the bad cop role. Ford wasn’t that good at lying though. 

“Then don’t.” was the absolutely fearless reply. 

Stan’s admiration of the kid was starting to wear thin, as balseyness seemed to give way to stupidity. “Oh, he’s gonna.” Stan said. Then he sighed “We shouldn’t even be having this part of the conversation yet, all we asked is your name.” 

“And why is that important to you?” Stan glared at the kid, the kid glared back, and they stayed like that for no less than twenty seconds before the kid sighed and said “Trevor. Hi, nice to meet you.” 

“There, that wasn’t so hard.” Stan grinned. “Nice to meet you too, Trevor. Now, this one’s a little bit harder.” Stan thought a minute about his phrasing, then settled on “Why were you watching us?” 

Trevor seemed to also be considering his words carefully. “Tell you what.” he began. “Why don’t you tell me why you think I was watching you, and I’ll tell you if you’re right or not.” 

Stan and Ford glanced at each other. That was honestly a really bad idea, because it was a whole lot easier to lie if someone else was making up your lies for you. He didn’t have any better ideas though. Stan shrugged, and Ford barked “You were paid to.” 

Trevor looked as if he were actually thinking about that answer. “...kinda?” he said, which genuinely surprised Stan. “That wasn’t actually specifically negotiated.” and Stan’s stomach dropped. 

“You’re part of the crew.” Stan said, a little breathlessly. “You, you and your friend, you’re both in the Fake AH Crew.” 

“Yes.” Trevor responded easily. 

“What does your crew want with Stanley?” Ford demanded. Stan looked at him, surprised. It wasn’t obvious? Ford was probably just being through. 

“I don’t actually know.” Trevor responded. Which surprised Stan a little. “I just got word. Find Stanley Pines, report back where he is.” He paused, then added “Alfredo should be getting on that second part right about now, so this…” somehow, Trevor managed to gesture with his head, swinging it in a half-circle, forward, around, and back “is gonna have to end soon.” Then he looked at Ford and stated “So if you were planning to do any shooting, I’d suggest you get on that. Or not. Preferably not.” 

Stan looked at Ford, and Ford put away his gun. Stan started to step in to untie the guy when Ford closed all distance between himself and Trevor and grabbed the younger man hard by the jaw. He forced Trevor to hold his gaze and Stan involuntarily stepped back. It wasn’t the first time he’d been struck by the fact that his scrawny, nerdy twin had grown up to be legitimately dangerous, but it was the first time he’d seen Ford direct the full weight of the presence that came from that at another human being. Sure, flash the gun and frown every now and then. This was something totally different though. “You say you don’t know,” Ford spoke slowly, deliberately, threateningly. “But you must have some idea. Must have picked up something of your boss’ intent. Don’t try to hide behind not being told. You know something, and you will tell us.” 

Trevor was undaunted. “If I’d known I was going to be interrogated, I’d have paid more attention.” he said flatly. Stan was beginning to wonder if they’d had the misfortune of nabbing the kind of guy who just didn’t seem capable of feeling fear. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had, the crew was full of them. “Unfortunately,” Trevor continued. “I honestly just didn’t care.” 

“Really?” Ford pressed. “You didn’t pick up anything.” 

“Look.” Trevor snapped. “Either shoot me or don’t. I don’t have answers for you.” 

Slowly, Ford backed away. Stan felt himself start breathing normally again. He looked at Ford, who nodded, and he stepped back forward to undo the zip ties. Then he stepped back again. Trevor got up, rubbing his wrists. Stan couldn’t remember if he’d done them tight enough to make that necessary or if the gesture was for show. Then their recent captive nodded once at them and left the room. 

As soon as he was gone, Stan looked at Ford. There’d be time to talk about what the hell that had been later. “We have to go.” he said instead. 

Ford made no move to do anything of the sort. He stood there, contemplatively. “I’m not at all sure of that.” he said after what felt like forever but was probably only two or three seconds. 

“What?” Stan snapped “They’re coming after me! Did you hear Trevor? They’ll be here any minute!” Maybe they could talk about it a little now “You didn’t exactly buy us any time with that ‘you must’ve picked up your boss’ intentions’ schtick. We need to go NOW.” 

“Gavin is alive though, Stanley.” Ford answered. “The reason you thought they were after you no longer applies.” 

Stan just stared at his brother in disbelief. “Gavin coming back as some sort of monster doesn’t just let me off the hook!” he nearly shouted. “Whatever DID happen to him is my fault, and they’re gonna…”

“Was it?” Ford interrupted. “Was it, really? You’re so convinced they’re going to hold what you’ve all but said was an accident against you… we don’t even have a reason to believe the gang is made up of the same people.” 

“Then why did they send Trevor to find me, huh?” Stan demanded. “I was with them for ten months, thirty-three years ago. It’s not like they’re trying to get me back on the team, Ford! The only notable thing I did that whole year was get Gavin killed and that…” he took a deep, shuddery breath. “That’s unforgivable.” he said. 

Ford didn’t miss a beat. “To them, or yourself?” and Stan gave some serious thought to punching him. 

He spent long enough mulling it over that the moment to do so passed and Stan just sighed. Then a dark thought crossed his mind, and he had to say it. Maybe it’d light a fire under Ford’s ass and they could actually get out of here. “If somebody…” oh, oh this was gonna be harder to say out loud then he thought. Stan swallowed. “If somebody killed Dipper, and you had a shot at them thirty-three years later, you’d take it, wouldn’t you? Even if he came back.” 

The thunderstruck look he’d been seeking lasted only a moment before fading into a scowl. “Leaving aside the fact that I doubt I’ll be in any condition to take a shot at anyone in another thirty-three years, you didn’t kill Gavin. And if it were an accident, and Dipper showed half the affection for the guilty party as Gavin did for you, then absolutely not.” 

Stan honestly didn’t know what to say to that, and for the first time, the concept that Geoff Ramsey might not be out for his blood finally became a real possibility in his mind. Not a very big one, but real all the same. 

He didn’t have time to figure out the ramifications of that before the motel door was kicked in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had some nasty writers block on this chapter. Then I let Trevor be a smartass and it just flowed. 
> 
> The lesson? 
> 
> Trevor's a fucking smartass.


	8. Chapter 8

The first thing Ford saw when the door got kicked open was the short young man in sunglasses and a cowboy hat who had done the kicking. He had barely a moment to recognize Gavin and a well-dressed man behind Gavin before Stan completely blocked his view. Ford bristled instantly. They weren’t children anymore, this bodily shielding him thing was unwanted and unnecessary. Ford stepped to the side and Stan threw out an arm like a parent pinning their child to the seat of a car in lieu of a seatbelt. 

Gavin stepped ahead of the shorter man, who settled at the shoulder of the third. Something about the indignation on the humanoid creature’s face left Ford both irritated, and in his irritation wondering just which of them his brother was trying to protect. 

Stan took a step forward and Ford reached for him instinctively but Stan followed that step with three others so he was out of Fords reach. What was he doing? Ford found himself standing there, helplessly. Distantly, it occurred to him that Stan didn’t seem to be protecting the others, if he wanted Ford had a clean shot at both the short, burley man who’d kicked the door in and the taller, well-dressed man with tattoos on his hands. Stan was only protecting Gavin, and potentially still Ford. 

“Stan?” Gavin sounded confused.

“Gavin.” Stan’s voice was heavy, and thick, like when he’d been crying. Had Stan started crying without Ford noticing? He wanted to check. To grab his brother and spin him around and do his best to offer comfort but they had a crisis ongoing, there was time for comfort later. Stan took another step forward and then threw his arms around Gavin. 

It took Gavin a moment to return the embrace. He raised his arms slowly, pressing his hands to Stan’s shoulder blades and breathing “Oh, Stanley…” 

Ford grit his teeth. Why weren’t they running? Fighting? Something? Had Stan finally seen reason, that this crew wasn’t out to hurt him? Because Ford wasn’t so sure anymore. The fact that all three men were visibly armed seemed to have done something to reverse their positions. Ford took a step forward when he heard Stan breathe “I’m so glad to see you again, Gav.” and Stan pulled back from the hug, just a little, to look at the, for lack of a better term, other man. “One more time, huh?” Stan said, and Ford went cold. 

There was a roar on the tip of Ford’s tongue. He was furious. What did Stan think he was doing? Ford knew the answer to that question and hated it. Before he could say anything, Gavin commented “It’s good to see you too, Stanley. You’re looking awfully rough though, have you not been taking care of yourself?” 

Stan snorted. Ford saw him go stiff though, just. Gavins words shot right down Stans spine and Ford could see them, visibly straighten his vertebrae and push him slightly away. “Guess not.” Stan answered, and Ford hated that he could recognize the hurt there. Then Stan looked up, at the other two men. “Ramsey?” The better dressed of the two (who wore a brightly colored suit jacket with a cowboy hat, really? Ford hadn’t been gone so long that wasn’t still a fashion disaster. Some part of him that was in denial of the crisis unfolding in front of him resolved to ask Mabel, another part noted that the tux may be overkill but it was at least cohesive.) startled a little, as if he hadn’t expected to be addressed. So that was Geoff Ramsey. Funny, after everything Stan had said, and more what he hadn’t said, Ford had expected more of the man. Any thoughts Ford had on the matter, of any kind, were suddenly erased. Stan sounded calm, much too calm if you asked Ford, when he spoke again. “I’m ready.” 

Ford saw red. He practically jumped forward, closing his hand around Stans shoulder and pulling. Drawing his gun with his other hand. “Like HELL you are.” he growled. 

Stan shrugged him off. The short, colorful one pulled his weapon as well. Ramsey’s hand went to his coat, resting on his own gun but not drawing it yet. They were both looking at him though. Good. “Hey.” Not good, Stan was drawing their attention again. The shorter one, who Ford distantly realized was acting as a bodyguard to Ramsey, took half a step toward them. Ford let the barrel of his weapon drift in that mans general direction, but didn’t take aim just yet. He could do that in a fraction of a second if he had to. Stan wasn’t making it any less likely he’d have to. Not even if he thought he was by saying “Could...could you just do me one favor and leave Stanford out of it? I know I...you don’t owe me anything really but...I did some good work for you once and if that…” and Stan seemed unable to keep talking. 

“Stanley, Stop.” Ford said. 

He didn’t even notice how puzzled Ramsey looked until the tattooed man spoke. “What the hell are you talking about, Pines?” Stan and Ford both froze, staring at him. Ford felt a rush of relief, they really weren’t after Stan. On the heels of relief were doubt. Stan had just asked for something, a favor...Ford felt more then directed his gun to drift toward the older of Gavins companions. The younger seemed to notice and shifted forward, an easy half step from between them. Then, Ramsey seemed to realize. “Did you really think I was…” he paused, then straightened and Ford only just realized how tall he was. Geoff Ramsey was the tallest man in the room, by an inch or so over Gavin, and suddenly he was using that height. He was also yelling. “Why the fuck didn’t you just leave town if that’s what you thought?” 

Stan’s stance wavered, but he seemed to steel himself against the raised voice. “That was my fault.” Ford interjected, and Stan whirled to face him, eyes wide. For a moment, Ford thought of their childhood. That was, after all, the last time he’d seen Stanley look quite like this. The thought did nothing but seed resentment. Who did Ramsey think he was? Ford actually took a step toward the taller man. The shorter finished that step and placed himself between them. Ramsey had the decency to look startled by that. Ford used the moment to take a calming breath, then stood straighter for himself. “My name is Stanford Pines, you’ve met my brother, Stanley. We’re paranormal researchers. I’d detected some anomalous energy here in Los Santos and brought Stanley along in my attempt to find a cause.” 

Without hesitation, Ramsey offered his tattooed hand. “Geoff Ramsey.” he introduced. Ford barley hesitated before he took the offered hand. Instantly, all eyes were on the handshake. Specifically, on Fords sixth finger. “...Huh.” was the only comment though, and the handshake ended without incident. 

“You’re not…” Stan said, voice a little too soft, a little too heavy. Not quite relieved yet. He didn’t finish the sentence. 

“Oh, I never said I didn’t have a bone to pick with you two.” Geoff said. He wasn’t yelling anymore, but he was far from the calm he’d seemed a moment ago on making introductions. “Investigating and doing a lot of unnecessary looking over your shoulder is one thing. But interrogating Treyco? Really?”

“I assure you,” Ford said quickly “Our intentions were entirely based in self-defense. We wouldn’t have seriously injured him in any case.” 

Ramsey considered that for a moment. “I really shouldn’t let it slide.” he said. Then he looked at Stan. “Honestly, Stan, I’m mostly just offended you actually thought I was coming after you to hurt you. Is that why you ran away?” 

“He was dead.” Stan said, but he sounded empty. 

“And you thought I’d blame you?” Ramsey’s voice was gentle now, even hurt. 

Stan shrugged. “It was my fault.” he said simply. Any anger Ford had felt toward Ramsey vanished when he saw the way Stan’s words affected the man. 

“Stanley!” Gavin gasped “Stan...no…” 

“It was!” Stan snapped. “And...and if you hadn’t come back, Gav, he’d KNOW that. He’s just…” he trailed off. All three men winced, and a look of realization slowly came across Stan’s face. “...you really did know? The whole time, didn’t you? You knew you couldn’t...you knew you wouldn’t stay dead.” 

“Yeah.” Gavin said softly. “Yeah, I knew. Was thinkin of getting Geoff to bring you in on it too, when you left.” 

“Bring him in on what?” Ford demanded. “What are you three?” 

“Bold question for the man with too many fingers.” Gavin snapped.

“Hey!” Stan snapped. “One in five hundred people have some kinda polydactyly. About NONE in five THOUSAND people get back up after they’ve been shot in the head!” 

Ford started to bite back a correction, then reframed it as a coorabaration. “At least not without life-altering neurological damage.” 

Gavin seemed to literally start pouting. “Still rude to assume we’re not human.” 

“Are we?” The shorter man spoke for the first time. He had a surprisingly contemplative look on his face. “I just mean…” he started, then stopped. “Huh. I never really thought about it.” Then he turned and looked at Ramsey. “What ARE we, Geoff?” his voice lacked the urgency Ford would expect to accompany such a question. Instead he seemed to be experiencing mild philosophical curiosity. Ford wasn’t sure if he should be impressed or disturbed at how casually the young-looking man was taking this apparent crisis of identity. 

“I dunno.” Ramsey answered, or, rather, non-answered. “Immortals? I guess? We’re still human, Jeremy. We just. Have some extra perks.” 

“How?” Ford asked.

Ramsey studied him. “Honestly I don’t really know why I should tell you that. You know we have... anomalous... energy signatures.” a younger Ford would have stopped listening that very moment. As it was, he just smirked. He had what he needed, but he let Geoff continue, hoping to glean more from it. “Your brother can attest to the fact that we don’t age, and that we recover completely from fatal wounds. I don’t think you need to know anything else. We exist, why do you care why?” 

“I told you, I’m a researcher.” Ford answered, “and if you tell me how you and your crew are immortal, I’ll explain the energy signatures you give off.” 

It was impossible to miss the curiosity in Geoff’s eyes. He seemed to weigh the offer for a moment, then “Alright. That’s fair.”

“So,” Stan interjected suddenly. “Ford can tell you all about his nerd gadgets later. Right now we both need to know how you’re all immortal.” 

“Could argue the other way.” Gavin pointed out. “We all need to know how you found us, Geoff can tell you our origin story later.” 

Stan looked furious, but there was a softness under it. The unfairness of all this struck Ford. The affection Stan had for these people, and they for him it seemed. All that time lost over a misunderstanding. Ford found himself wondering what would have happened if Stan had stayed. Would he have still come to Gravity Falls when Ford contacted him? Would he still have stayed, working to reopen the portal? How would he himself have reacted to coming home thirty years later only to find Stan unchanged by age? Stan was opening his mouth to say, or more likely, shout, something back when Geoff waved them off. 

“Stan probably just wants to get all the answers and still skip out on the technical talk.” Ramsey said. “Normally I’d tell him tough shit, but he’s kinda old now and he’s been through a lot today, so I’ll let him get away with it.” Stan grumbled and even blushed a bit, looking away. Geoff sighed heavily. “Would you guys believe me if I said it’s Time Travel?” 

Ford took a moment to wrap his head around that, to try to process the implications. Stan ruined any progress he’d made at that by blurting out “No.” Which was more certain than Ford would have put it, not to mention more blunt. It was close enough to the conclusion Ford was reaching that he simply gestured to his brother in agreement.

Ramsey sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face and for a second Ford thought he looked older. At least his own age. There was a very real exhaustion in his eyes when he looked back and forth between the two of them. “Alright, have a seat. This is a bit of a story.” 

To Ford’s surprise, Stan did exactly as instructed, perching on the end of his bed. He felt a flash of some negative emotion, directed at Ramsey primarily, that led him to grumble “You know this is our motel room, right?” 

Ramsey was unbothered. “Have a seat anyway.” Ford hesitated, then did so. He sat beside Stanley. It was possible his brother would still need some reassurance in all this, and if possible Ford would like to provide it. That seemed unlikely though, as Stan’s eyes were glued to Geoff Ramsey. In fact, it seemed all eyes in the room except Fords were. “A long time ago, and a little bit in the future…” Geoff paused, then cracked a grin “Man, I love that this story honestly starts that way. Anyway. I have this friend, total genius. He invents time travel, and invites me along.”

“Your friend invented time travel.” Ford echoed skeptically. 

“Well he wasn’t the first to.” Geoff responded, then “Well, actually, I don’t know who invented it first. You can’t really…” he gestured back and forth with his hands, as if pushing them into slots. “You can’t write a chronology of that because of...of the whole nature of time travel. Anyway, maybe it’s more accurate to say he built a time machine.” 

“More believable at any rate.” Ford interjected, and Ramsey just glared at him. 

“I’ll just get right to the point.” Ramsey said. “My friend and I, we stepped on a few toes in our travels. Someone ended up challenging us to these...gladiatorial time combat games.” It sounded familiar, but before Ford could place how, Stan nudged him. Ford turned to look at his brother, whose eyes had gone wide.

An instant later, Ford placed it. “Globnar!”

Ramsey froze, and the shocked expression on his face was nothing short of priceless. “How did you know…” 

“My...our,” Ford indicated himself and Stanley. “Great nephew, and great niece...they were also challenged to those games, only just last summer.” he paused and added “They only saw fit to share the whole story with us last month.” The facts, as presented, were slowly catching up to him. It was with a jolt of realization that he put the pieces together. “You got your immortality through a time wish!” 

“Shit…” Stan breathed. Ford assumed he was also coming to appreciate the power of such a thing. “Lucky Soos only used his for infinite pizza…” 

“Wait, what?” the short one, Jeremy? Said. “Did you just say your nephew used his Time Wish for infinite pizza?” 

“The niblings’re the ones who won Globnar.” Stan explained “Soos is the guy who they gave the wish to.” 

“Your niblings just…” Geoff was all disbelief. “They just gave away a Time Wish?” 

Stan just shrugged. Ford felt the need to explain. “Soos is...like family.” 

“You can have anything.” Geoff’s voice was climbing in pitch. ”ANYTHING.” And, temporarily at least, volume. “Paradox-free, change the world however you want…”

“And this guy used it for infinite pizza.” Jeremy sighed. Then “I dunno, Geoff, I kinda think those kids made the right call there.” 

“What I don’t understand.” Ford interrupted “Is how the others are immortal as well. I understand that you wished for immortality, but how did you pass that on?” 

Geoff was still staring, eyes wide. He shook himself though, and shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t just going to wish Gus immortal without asking. The deal we made was that I’d make the wish and Gus would chose the fate of our opponent. He uh…” Geoff smirked a little “He’s always been the more vengeance-minded between us, and that’s saying something.” 

Ford didn’t want to know what he meant by that. Didn’t want to know what this Gus did to whoever challenged them. Didn’t want to know what it was about Geoff Ramsey that had had his brother fearing for his life at so much as stepping foot in this city. In fact, as he reflected on everything Geoff had told him, there wasn’t much more he actually wanted to know. “So that’s it then.” Ford said. “It was a Time Wish. You gained immortality and the power to grant such to others.” He paused, then “I suppose you’d like me to apologize for assuming you were something other than human, but I still believe it was hardly an insult.” 

“Hardly means a little bit.” Gavin muttered and holy shit what had Stan ever seen in this ridiculous, pedantic, scrawny little trickster? “So you did mean to insult us a little bit.” 

Ford huffed, and Stan actually laughed. Which, on one hand, Ford could hear the relief in his laugh. The joy. These people he’d once cared about didn’t hate him and Ford couldn’t imagine how happy his brother was right now. On the other, it occurred to him it had probably been exactly those traits that drew Stan to Gavin in the first place and that was just a level of irritation he wasn’t prepared for right now. “Fine.” he gave. “I am sorry for assuming monstrousness when all that was evident was unique abilities.” 

“Thank you.” said Gavin, and Ford was briefly caught up in a dark fantasy of testing his immortality. Extensively. He shook it off easily enough. 

“Now.” said Geoff. “Much as I’m in a hurry to see what exactly about us led you here, I think that’s something we should get Ryan in on. So if you two don’t mind, we should head to the penthouse.” 

Stan got up to gather his things and Ford once again bristled. How was it that his stubborn twin who had barely even listened to their parents was so quick to obey this virtual stranger? He supposed it helped that Ramsey was right, and getting out of the motel room sooner rather then later would be for the best. Still. Ford didn’t like any of this.


End file.
